Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Italy and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing The Misunderstood to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by The Zeros. All the underground hits.
All Tears for Fears tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Derrick May record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terror Squad Feat. Camron record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Smog,
Q and Not U,
Al Stewart,
X-102,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Leaves,
Q65,
Blancmange,
Au Pairs,
T.S.O.L.,
Infiniti,
Peter & Gordon,
Aswad,
Slave,
Derrick May,
Fear,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Gang of Four,
Gang Starr,
Liliput,
The Durutti Column,
Pere Ubu,
Mark Hollis,
Popol Vuh,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Sonny Sharrock,
Grey Daturas,
Peter and Kerry,
Pylon,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Searchers,
The Offenders,
Fela Kuti,
The Smiths,
Tropical Tobacco,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Dennis Brown,
The Monks,
John Foxx,
Eric Copeland,
The Blues Magoos,
DJ Sneak,
Amon Düül,
Nirvana,
Donny Hathaway,
Jeff Mills,
Negative Approach,
Bronski Beat,
Andrew Hill,
Vladislav Delay,
Japan,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Wasted Youth,
Loose Ends,
Minny Pops,
Unrelated Segments,
Pussy Galore,
The Fugs,
The Slits,
Minutemen,
Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.